Dream catchers. Lumberjacks. Goldfish.
These wildly random topics have been the themes of several parties I’ve attended recently.
The dream catcher party was a birthday celebration, and attendees were asked to wear sandals and T-shirts with screen prints of wolves howling at cloud-shrouded moons.
The lumberjack party is an annual event. I purchased a plaid shirt specifically for the evening, which seemed like quite a commitment for a two-hour get-together. But I was put to shame by the boys who had spent weeks growing beards and learning to chop wood.
And then there was the goldfish racing party. It was as awkward and inhumane as it sounds. People arrived with plastic bags full of unsuspecting fish that were propelled down rain gutter-like shoots by miniature water guns. The hardwood floor suffered significant warping, and many fish went home belly-up. I wish I had been able to put them all in Nordstrom jewelry boxes and give them a proper burial.
I suppose this is what you get when you ask single 20-somethings to come up with activities that induce as much laughter and lead to as many “remember-that-one-time” stories as those that our less sober counterparts turn to.
The randomness almost seems like too much to handle, but (with the exception of the goldfish shindig) these crazy events really do make for good stories and enjoyable evenings. I’ve decided I can either sit at home eating cereal and watching “Friends” reruns, or I can get out there and make actual friends while chomping on trail mix or learning to weld an ax.
I relied on this adventurous attitude last Saturday night as I embarked on a last-minute blind date. The guy was sweet, but when Kelsey’s car got a flat tire on the freeway at 10 p.m., I knew this was one of those “remember-that-one-time” moments and not a magical “story-of-how-we-met” events.
Frozen fingers, lost car keys, french fries for dinner and an hour-and-a-half of murder in the dark with 20 strangers added to the excitement.
I must admit that there were moments when I wanted to throw my hands up and call Lizzy to come get me. But I decided to laugh about it, and it actually turned out to be kind of fun.
This is me and Rachel on the side of the road, capturing the memories.
We belted out Bruno Mars songs while silently praying the spare tire would hold out, consumed obscene amounts of chocolate (to balance out the french fries, of course) and brainstormed names for my date’s band. A quick game of “Tell me the first word that comes to your mind” brought us to “Pink Like Trees.” We decided it’s a keeper.
Can you guess which word was mine?